Page 66 of My Best Friend's Earl
The dazed way he watched her while he caught his breath made Connie feel like the most accomplished lover in history. Which, given the many erotic novels she’d read over the years, she might be, she thought smugly.
“Now, show me how to make you come. I’ll be hard and ready again in short order,” Oliver said.
Her belly quivered at his wickedly intent expression. “Let the lessons begin.”
Oliver was a quick study, bless him. And lord, his mouth. Not just the way he tormented her nipples so deliciously, but the things he said. Filthy confessions of desire, murmured in her ears, affected her as thoroughly as his fingers slipping into the slickness between her thighs.
It was impossible not to feel a bit lost to arousal, when his words of praise filled the room, making her feel like agoddess. What began as gentle instructions ofthere, like that, andplease don’t stopgrew into a full conversation as they explored one another.
“I love the taste of you. So sweet and hot. I’d feast all night, but I can’t wait to sink my cock into you.” The vibration of his words rumbled against her sensitive flesh as he held her thighs open to his kiss the way she’d shown him.
“Please, Oliver. I need you.” Constance arched against his hands, nearly mindless after climaxing twice during their so-called lesson.
“Once more,” he urged, before wrapping his lips around the stiff bundle of nerves at the top of her folds. “Come in my mouth one more time. Then I’ll fill this gorgeous pussy until we both can’t see straight.”
“Greedy man.” Her teasing dissolved into a moan. Within moments, another wave crested within her, leaving Constance gasping and boneless.
Then he was there, filling her vision. “Yes?” he asked simply.
Constance nodded, suddenly eager, when seconds earlier she’d have sworn on a mountain of holy objects she’d be incapable of movement for at least ten minutes.
They saw to the vinegar-soaked sponge, then Oliver was finally at her entrance. After taking so much time to learn what the other liked amidst their heated confessions of need and lust, letting him into her body felt nearly painfully intimate.
For the first time since she’d removed her clothing, Oliver didn’t speak. Instead, he stared into her eyes, refusing to look away.
When his words returned, they were sweet. Still riddled with swear words but equally peppered with her name and declarations that she was everything he wanted. Perfect in every way. That he couldn’t get enough of her. That nothinghad ever felt better than her body, and he never wanted to leave.
Constance absorbed the praise, reveling in the beautiful way they fit together. Even though reality predicted that she’d live to regret it, she gave herself permission to believe every word. For the moment, they were true. And she refused to miss a single moment of loving him.
Oliver awoke the next morning with his cheek pressed against one of Constance’s breasts, and frankly, waking up any other way would pale in comparison. For the rest of his life, this was how he wanted to greet the day. Soft, warm flesh that smelled of well-loved woman and honeysuckle, with a dark rosy nipple close enough to lick. “And it’s not even Tuesday.” His voice was gravelly with sleep.
“Hmm?”
Refusing to move from his spot, Oliver rolled his eyes up to meet hers. Sleepy deep blue, and so satisfied, it made him want to pound his chest like his mother’s precious gorilla.
“Nothing. Just content.” It didn’t take a high intellect to know she’d tease him about his Tuesday limitations. However, she’d probably feel terribly smug to know thoughts of her had left his self-imposed restrictions in tatters. Fuck it, he’d tell her. “Actually, I said it wasn’t Tuesday. I’m in bed with you, cuddling the most spectacular breasts in all of England, and it’s not even Tuesday.”
Her eyes closed on a wince. “Is this a conversation I’ll need tea to understand?”
Grinning, he gave in to temptation and drew that fascinating nipple into his mouth, then released it with a pop, and stared in awe as the darker skin around the peak tightened. Breasts really were the most remarkable things. “I realizedabout a decade ago that if I was to remain a virgin, I’d need rules. Things I could and could not do to stay in control.”
“Since, unlike women, you don’t have the judgment of society as a whole to keep you in line.” Curiosity cleared the sleep from her eyes, and he was thrilled to learn that her intellect woke up with her.
“Exactly. So, Tuesday mornings were my time to masturbate.”
Light brown eyebrows, shot through with the same blond of her wild curls, met over the bridge of her nose. “Once a week? You masturbated once a week?”
“On Tuesdays, yes.”
She blinked, and those delightful lips parted, although she didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m not sure if I should applaud your self-control or use this as evidence that you’re daft. I share a bed with my cousin, and before that, two cousins, and beforethat, my sister. And I still manage to masturbate more often than once a week.”
His cock, which had been hard as a pike since the moment he awoke, jerked against the sheet. “I’m adding watching you masturbate to the list of things I want to experience. If you’re comfortable with the idea, of course.”
Constance stretched her arms overhead, arching her back and shifting her soft breasts beneath his cheek. “I believe that could be arranged.” She rolled to face him, which led to a second or two of pouting on his part when his pillows moved.
Amusement lit her face. Seeing her sleepy, mussed, and enjoying him—even though he wasn’t doing anything special—struck him as so terriblyright, he forgot to breathe for a moment. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Gold-tipped lashes fluttered closed, hiding her expressive eyes from him. Hiding her. And that wouldn’t do. Oliversank one hand into her curls and kissed her the way he’d dreamt of kissing her every morning. Hard and possessive. Within seconds, eager hands clutched at him, as demanding of him as he was toward her. Constance murmured a gaspedpleasebetween kisses, before he slid deep.
